


Three Micro-Fics for One Penguin

by Monetarily Dizzy (SandOfTheMountain)



Category: Here and Then, How Best to Use A Sword, Mary Poppins - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pt. 2, F/F, Fanfiction, Fanfiction of an Original Work, Fluff, Gen, I'll Just Have a Good Description, Magic, They're Not Really the Focus Though, Trans Character, What else to tag?, Witches, i guess?, past trauma, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 21:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17373605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandOfTheMountain/pseuds/Monetarily%20Dizzy
Summary: A good long while ago, I stumbled across a piece of original fiction calledIt's Not as Easy as Just Wandering into A Forest and Killing the Witch.Since reading it, I have fallen down an excellent rabbit hole of AntagonizedPenguin's work, and I have come to appreciate the people I have met through these stories. This is an honoring, both for Penguin and for the stories as a whole in their impact and grandeur.The first micro-fic is pure fluff, featuring my favorite pairing from the series. It is set entirely in AntagonizedPenguin's world, and it is pure fanfic.The second micro-fic is perhaps the most indulgent thing I've ever read, and should stand as testament to why I shouldn't be allowed to see movies. It features a young witch left alone in a time of trouble, and a woman who comes to oversee him.The third micro-fic is a crossover between his characters and my own OCs, from my story Here and Then.This is... terrifying... because I want to do all of these characters justice. So here's hoping I did.Finally, thank you, to all of you who know who you are.





	1. Ain't It A Glorious Day?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AntagonizedPenguin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntagonizedPenguin/gifts).



Cordelia woke up to the softest suggestion of sunlight, filtering in through the blinds that she had so meticulously drawn last night. Eyeing the window with the hardest glare she could muster, Cordelia contemplated trying to squeeze in a few more hours of sleep. Surely, Francesca could manage without her until lunchtime? Cordelia rolled over, facing the spot her wife had vacated-- vacated recently, since there was still a bit of warmth were Isabella had been. That was… unusual. Isabella was always up by a bit before Cordelia could bring herself to crawl out of bed; Cordelia couldn’t place the last time she had woken up close enough to her wife to feel Isabella’s warmth.

“Oh good, you’re up.” Isabella stuck her head in from the door, exiting for a moment before edging her way back in, a tray in her hands. “I brought breakfast,” Isabella said, a smile accompanying the food. “Good morning, my sleeping dragon. I thought we could enjoy a leisurely meal together, and I went and got the food while I gathered the courage to wake you up. Thank you for saving me the trouble.” Isabella planted a kiss on Cordelia’s forehead as she placed a plate in her wife’s lap.

“What time even is it,” Cordelia muttered, picking up a piece of fruit. Her favorite fruit, actually-- Isabella was spoiling her with details.

“A while past sunrise,” Isabella said, as if that was an answer. “I wanted to start today well, since it’s our holiday.”

Cordelia frowned, stretching for the teapot. “Holiday?”

“Yes,” Isabella said, pouring the tea. “Wake up a little more, love. Today’s the day off we wrangled from Francesca.”

Oh.  _ Oh _ . That was  _ today _ . How could she have forgotten? Cordelia’s shoulders jumped a bit in excitement as the promise of the day set in. A day off. It had been funny, getting this day arranged. Initially, Cordelia had been ambivalent-- she wanted a day with Isabella, of course, but they had jobs. Important ones, the kinds of jobs that helped keep Kyaine running smoothly. But Isabella had taken the idea and run with it, culminating with the queen essentially forcing her companion to take the day.

“You’ve more than earned it,” Francesca had said, kindness etched in her every feature. “Go take a day, do those things for which you have no time. I’ll be fine. I’m sure Franz has nothing to do; he can assist his mother for one day.”

Cordelia had laughed at that, though it was one mixed with many emotions. Franz had recently become engaged to Gabrielle ven Sancte, and his time home before he headed north was drawing to a close much too quickly for his mother’s taste. It wasn’t like Francesca needed a reason to make Franz spend time with her, but she wasn’t going to pass on any opportunities.

So there Cordelia was, reclined against her headboard as she sipped tea and ate with her wife, the promise of the day lingering over them.

\---

Isabella said that she needed to go to the market, so they went there first. Technically, Lady Isabella DeThane didn’t have to go to the market, she could have just as easily sent one of the attendants who helped see that she and her wife made it day to day without any major mishaps. But Isabella wanted to go to the market, just as she had wanted to bring her wife breakfast in bed, and so they went, hand in hand, smiling the whole way.

“Been a while since we’ve done this,” Cordelia noted as they weaved deeper into the market, eyeing various wares. Somewhere something smelled delicious, and she was eager to try it as soon as breakfast was a bit more digested.

“It has,” Isabella noted, hand slipping out of her Cordelia’s for a moment. “Love, look at this.” It was a windchime, colored glass elegantly suspended amidst silver pipes. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“It certainly is colorful,” Cordelia said, eyeing the others. “That looks like something the queen would like,” Cordelia said quietly, pointing to a hulking work of brass and glass that was more akin to a chandelier than a windchime.

“I bet the tones are gorgeous,” Isabella said, defending her queen.

“I’d hope so,” Cordelia laughed. She looked back to the chime in Isabella’s hands, how her wife was idly playing with one of the glass pieces. “Are you going to get that?”

“I was thinking it would look nice on the balcony,” Isabella said, putting it at arm's’ length and giving it a slight shake. “Carlos would love it. What do you think?”

“If you love it, get it. We have the money.”

Isabella smiled, giving it another moment of thought before paying the vendor and asking her to hold it for them. They’d come back for it as they left the market, rather than carrying it around with them. “I know it’s probably not something you’d get, but it makes me happy.”

“And I like when you’re happy,” Cordelia said, lacing her fingers back with Isabella’s. “Ready to keep on?”

“Always.”

They shopped for a while longer, Cordelia picking out a new necklace for Isabella while her wife returned the favor, getting Cordelia two new blends of tea to try.

“And this one is supposed to give you the flavor of the tea without keeping you up all night.”

Cordelia made a face. “Isn’t part of the joy of tea the energy you get from it?”

Isabella gently patted Cordelia’s arm. “It’s not a joy for the rest of us, love.”

Cordelia brought a hand to her heart, feigning offence. “Some of my best work gets done, fueled by tea!”

“Yes, yes, but at what cost?” Isabella glanced around, giving Cordelia’s hand a quick squeeze. “I think I’m about ready for lunch, what do you think?”

Cordelia blinked. “Is it time already?” As if on cue, the bells of Saint Ophelia rang out across the market, marking the noon. “I could go for something. I smelled something delicious earlier, though I haven’t the faintest idea where it could be now…”

The two eventually settled on wraps: beans and rice and onion and peppers encased in a thin bread. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun,” Cordelia laughed after she placed her order. “Meandering about, eating food from market vendors. It’s fun.”

“It is,” Isabella hummed, placing her order. “Extra onions and peppers please,” she added, eyeing the pitiful amount that had made it into Cordelia’s meal. “Today’s just felt like a dream, hasn’t it? Reminds me of the early days, before things started getting so messy.”

“Things have always been messy,” Cordelia replied between bites. “We just got older.”

A groan. “Oh, don’t remind me.”

“That we’re aging? Why? Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed of it? You wear it so well!”

“We’re not that old,” Isabella protested.

“We just have three children,” Cordelia said, “one of whom is making her first forays into dating--” Cordelia was cut off by another groan, one she laughed off. “I’ve really enjoyed these years,” she said softly, leaning her head against Isabella. Her wife had done her hair for her this morning, brushing it out and braiding it neatly down her back, and it bounced against Isabella’s back as the two walked, Cordelia refusing to move her head.

“We’ve done well,” Isabella said, gently straightening Cordelia before the two began to veer sideways. “And we’ll keep doing well.”

“I’m just a lucky woman,” Cordelia said, kissing Isabella’s cheek. “And today is reminding me of it at every turn.”

“Well, lucky woman, what else do you want to do today? We need to circle back for our windchime, but other than that I’m about done with the marketplace.”

“I want to make one more circle around the market, make sure we didn’t miss any treasures. Then we can pick up your windchime and get back home; we can plan our next steps from there.” 

The vendor was all smiles as they picked up the windchime; miraculously, someone seemed to have purchased the big brass chime from the morning. Arm in arm, Cordelia and Isabella made their way back to the castle, joyous in their lack of responsibility.

\---

Iago had wanted to help put the windchime up on the balcony, even though there wasn’t a lot that the child could do. Still, neither Cordelia nor Isabella were going to send him away, so Cordelia found him a few extra nails to hold under the pretense that should Isabella’s break, he would immediately have a replacement.

“So, how was the market?” Christina fell into a chair with the careless ease only a teenager could possess, her eyes darting between her mothers. “I see you found something.”

“Several things, actually, but we can’t exactly hang up tea.”

“What else do you plan to do on your day off?” The question was almost neutral, but Cordelia could detect just a touch too much interest in her daughter’s voice, tipping her off that there was something she was angling towards.

“Why do you ask?”

Christina shrugged, a portrait of nonchalance. “I’m just curious if we’re doing family stuff before dinner, or if you and mom are hanging out and we’re on our own.”

“Part of today’s fun is the lack of having plans.” Cordelia sharply turned; Isabella was swearing from the balcony. “Isabella?”

“Missed the nail,” came Isabella’s voice. “Hit my thumb, but no harm done.”

“I told her not to fuss with that, but she wanted it up sooner rather than later,” Cordelia confided to Christina. “What can you do? But back to what we were talking about, I’m getting the sense there’s somewhere you want to be?”

“Oh, well. It’s really nothing,” Christina began, her forced casualness indicating that it was definitely something. “Geoffrey had mentioned a few of us going out on the lake for a while, and just thought if I didn’t have anything else going on…”

“You can go,” Cordelia said, smiling more to herself than to her daughter. “Just be back for dinner. Even if you have to swim back yourself from the center of the lake.”

“Oh, yeah,” Christina said, already headed to change into something more suitable for water. “Of course, I’ll be back. Thank you!” Already she was back out; Cordelia half suspected she had the lake clothes on under her regular clothes. “Love you, see you and mom later!” And she was off.

“She may grow up to be two handfuls of trouble,” Isabella said from behind Cordelia, wrapping an arm around her wife’s waist.

“I’m sure we’ll raise her to be smart enough to keep her mischief out of our hair.”

“My hair, you mean, seeing as you so often declare you’re going to cut yours off.” Isabella’s hand had found the hand in question, finger resting on the tie at the end of her braid, asking permission.

“One day, it’ll happen. I’ll hit that last straw and snap.” Cordelia nodded and Isabella proceeded, undoing the tie and running her hand through Cordelia’s hair until it fell down her back in a wave. “Though I would miss you doing this.”

“If the breaking of your final straw manifests as nothing more than a change in hair, then I think that’s a storm we can weather. I’ll buy you some lovely scarves.”

“I do like scarves,” Cordelia laughed. “Maybe I should on this sooner rather than later.”

“Not at all,” Isabella said, spinning Cordelia so that they were face to face. “Your hair sways so nicely when you dance.” Hands found hands, and the two indulged in the moment, swaying for a moment before setting into the same rhythm, the same set of movements.

“We danced this when we got married,” Cordelia noted, smiling into Isabella’s neck.

“It’s a favorite,” Isabella said, breaking off to twirl Cordelia. “Not overdone, but not without a flourish or two.”

“Today has been lovely,” Cordelia said, stepping into a hug and standing there, making no attempt to dance. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” Isabella said, kissing the side of Cordelia’s head. “How about we brew a pot of tea and read for a while, then have a lovely dinner with our family, and get to bed early? I don’t want to make it a boring night, but I like the idea of an evening without so many plans.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Cordelia said, drawing back and going off to make the tea. Isabella went off to prep a chair with pillows just as Cordelia liked, and the evening passed like a dream.

At dinner, Christina’s hair was still wet, Iago still had a nail in his pocket, and Carlos stared at everyone with the wide eyed joy of a child who wanted to know the world. Cordelia and Isabella prayed briefly, hand in hand, thanking God for the food and for their health, for their children and the kingdom, and for all the joys She had yet to reveal.

As Cordelia drifted off to sleep, lulled by the gentle tones of Isabella’s windchime, she gazed at the curtains she hadn’t quite drawn, and at the stars shining down upon the world.


	2. Listen, Listen

“You’re leaving? You can’t leave!”  _ Please don’t leave _ , howled the undercurrent in James’ mind.

“I have a lead on Jocelyn,” Josephine said, sadness etched into her face. Not ‘my daughter.’ James couldn’t remember the last time his grandma had called Jocelyn her daughter. It must have been recently; James’ mother hadn’t fled all that long ago. Maybe it was still too fresh for his grandma. It was for James. “Your Aunt Julia is coming too, to keep me company.”  _ And provide backup if they did find Jocelyn _ , James filled in. He hated that, how adults said half of what they meant.

“But what about you two, what happens if you leave the forest?”

“We’re not going to be gone for long, nor are we going too far away.” A non-answer. In later years, James would reflect on this and realize that his grandma hadn’t cared, she had just wanted to get something close to an answer, something to help give her a sense of agency  after that night. It definitely was still too fresh.

“So I’m going to be alone?”

“No.” Josephine fastened a cloak around her neck, glancing up at the sky. “I’ve arranged a caretaker for you, she’ll be here soon.”

James crossed his arms. “Aren’t I too old for a babysitter?” Surely, he had the forest. And if grandma and Aunt Julia were going to be away for only a short time, like they said they were, then the forest could watch over his shoulder. James thought so at least. He was still getting used to the forest’s presence, the way it underlined everything in gentle waves of music and feeling.

Josephine grabbed her staff, looking up again before looking back to James. He could have sworn there was something shining in her eyes, something close to mirth. “Not this one.”

“Are you sure?” One last question, one to ask for everything.

Josephine took a deep breath, and for a moment her age showed. Wrinkles were etched deep in her face, and her eyes were tired in a way that nothing else could touch. “No,” she admitted. “But I have faith. Faith and hope, and we just have to work with that.” Josephine leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to James’ brow. “Be good. And she’s a nanny, not a babysitter.” And then she was off, no doubt to meet up with Aunt Julia.

James stood alone for a moment, not sure what to do. Get ready for his caretaker, he supposed. He turned, not quite sure why grandma hadn’t waited until the nanny was here before taking off.

“Hey kid, what’s got you all in a twist?”

James jumped, twisting on his heel at the familiar voice. “Thorn?”

The faerie buzzed her wings, looking down at James with a smile. “The one and only.”

James nodded to himself, this made as much sense as anything. “You’re my nanny?”

Except… Thorn frowned. “No.” A small laugh. “I’m not much the nanny type. Josephine arranged one for you while she’s off on her jaunt?”

“Yeah.” James crossed his arms, trying not to sound sullen.

Thorn mimicked his posture, buzzing around James’ head. “Not too keen on that?”

“No. I can take care of myself.”

“So you’d rather be alone?” Thorn leaned back, and for a moment James was worried she would leave.

“No,” he said quietly, because being alone was something he dreaded. Absolutely and completely. But equally terrible was his desire to be alone, to just get some space from the world and breathe. It felt like his lungs were caught, had been caught since he woke up in that tent. Still, he didn’t want to think about what would happen if his mother came back, and it was just him. “I wouldn’t like that.”

“Then I’ll--” Thorn got quiet then, head whipping to the side. East, James knew, though he knew it too easily. Knowledge from the forest. He glanced up at the sun and determined it for himself, not simply accepting what the forest put in his head. The wind was blowing, whipping up stronger and stronger, and the forest looked to it, looked past it, and it hummed a song of eagerness, a long and laughing tune. “No,” Thorn breathed, looking up to the wind. Whatever the faerie was seeing, it was too far out for James’ sight. “She didn’t.” A laugh, wild and uninhibited and joyous. “She did.”

“Thorn? What is it?”

“Oh, kid,” Thorn laughed again, flying up in a spiral before shooting back down, her entire body buzzing in anticipation. “Your grandma really went for broke.”

James looked up again, and then he saw it. “What the absolute fuck…” There was a woman, suspended in the sky, and she was headed straight towards James and Thorn. As she got closer, James could make out her umbrella-- her apparent mode of flight-- and her bag, daintily clutched in her other hand. James reached out to the forest and was met with that laughing song; the forest loved her, whoever she was. When her feet touched down, it was if the forest itself held its breath, eagerly waiting for whatever she was going to do.

“If it isn’t the one and only Mary Poppins,” Thorn said, never one for formality. She zipped straight up to the woman, hovering in front of her.

“Ah, Thorn,” Mary said, eyeing the faerie. “You did change your hair. How excellent, it suits you so much more now. I was wondering if it would be done by the next time I visited here.”

“I…” Thorn ran her hand through her hair, something playing across her face. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I haven’t any patience for anyone who doesn’t know anything about who they are, which is why you were always refreshing. And you,” she said, turning on her heel to James. “You know an awful lot about who you aren’t, don’t you James?”

James stood with his mouth open, trying to process this woman. She just… fell out of the sky. And talked to Thorn like an old friend, and had been to the forest before. And had heard him swearing? Was this his caretaker? “How do you know my name?” A safe question, James supposed.

“She’s Mary Poppins,” Thorn said slyly.

“James, please,” Mary said at the same time. “And close your mouth, dear, you’ll catch flies, and I don't think they would like that very much. A closed mouth also cannot swear, a habit I have always found distasteful, and would prefer you never do again. There are so many wonderful long and short words to be heard, give them a chance.” James shut his mouth, winning a nod. “Good.” James had known Mary Poppins for all of two minutes, but he already knew he wanted her approval, and as much of it as possible. James was also pretty sure he would never swear again. “Now please take my bag,” Mary said, pressing it into James’ hand. “Let’s go inside and sit down for a while, I wager there’s tea hidden away somewhere in here and my journey has left me absolutely parched.” Mary bundled her umbrella and nodded to James, inviting him to take the lead.

“Do I need to invite you in?” James glanced down at the threshold, then back up at Mary.

“I don’t suppose you have to,” Mary said, “seeing as your grandmother invited me to watch over you, and I’ll have to be in the house to watch over you, and I also have sufficient motor skills to autonomously go where I please. But it would show good manners if you invited me in yourself, and you cannot underestimate manners.”

“Then come in,” James said, placing her bag in a chair by the door.

“Someone’s redecorated,” Mary noted, doing a slight spin as she entered. “I can’t say I like it, but perhaps I’m just stuck on old things.” She tossed her umbrella behind her without glancing back; James didn’t have time to say anything before he watched it neatly file into an umbrella stand that he could have sworn didn't exist a minute ago. “So, James, I am your guardian until your grandmother returns. Since it has been quite some time since I walked these woods, what do you propose we do first?”

“Um.” He hadn’t really been prepared for the question. Mary Poppins seemed more the type to just swirl in and drag everyone in her wake. James wasn’t quite sure what he wanted. “We can go check on the garden?”

Mary tilted her head. “Is it a question or a proposal?”

“A proposal,” James said. “Let’s go check on the garden.”

“Excellent. Let me get my things.” Mary went over to her bag, clicking open the clasp. In quick succession, she pulled a trowel, a pair of shears, and a heavy pair of boots from the bag, which James was sure was too small. “Staring is impolite,” she chastised. “Few women enjoy being the subject of a gawker.”

“It’s just, your bag.”

“What about it?”

“Isn’t it… too small for all those things?”

Mary smiled, a gesture that was comforting, if not entirely enlightening. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” And then she pulled on her boots, shrugged off her overcoat, and that was that. “Let’s see this garden.”

James lingered at the door for a moment, watching as Mary strode out into the sunlight, nodding at the plants. Maybe that’s why the forest liked her so much; she respected it and greeted it.

“The clouds aren’t always going to rain,” said a voice, jarring James. He looked, eyes falling to the bird carved into the handle of Mary’s umbrella. Surely, that wasn’t what had spoken. On the other hand, James was a witch who communicated with a forest, and Mary Poppins had used this umbrella to fly through the sky, so perhaps a magic, speaking umbrella wasn’t that far out of the realm of possibility. Still, the probably-umbrella’s words didn’t make sense. It wasn’t even overcast.

“James,” Mary called, and he was moving to her side before he even thought about it.

“Yes?”

“This plant here looks rather ill, what do you think?” 

James crouched, looking at the plant in question. It was a flowering vine, with delicate blue petals that were splayed open, catching the sun. “It doesn’t seem sick,” James said, gently feeling a blossom. “It looks fine.”

“And how does it sound?”

James listened, frowning. “It sounds… quiet. Like it’s singing with the forest, but under and with other plants.” James listened closer. “It’s… not fine. I don’t know what, but something’s not right.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought too. Make sure to give that one some extra attention in the next few days.”

James hummed at the plant, wishing for a moment it would sing louder, louder than anything else in the forest. Then he stood and turned, pretending he didn’t notice when the blossoms all closed; the plant thought he couldn’t see. Brushing his hands off on his pants, he wondered for a moment how Mary Poppins knew to look at that plant in particular.

The question hit him like lightning, and it slipped out just as fast. “Mary Poppins, can you hear the forest too?”

She turned, regarding the young witch with that unreadable expression that James had to assume was her default. “Me? That sounds rather impossible. How could I do that?”

“You just…” James trailed off, unsure how to explain that Mary Poppins seemed like a woman who regularly did impossible things. “You seem like a person who can do impossible things.” It was a moment where honesty was the only recourse, and he was instantly rewarded.

Mary’s eyes softened, if only a bit. “Why thank you, James. That means a great deal. Come along now, I’m sure there’s more to be done around here.” James nodded, leading Mary Poppins off to a shrub that had been snarking at him. He figured that if anyone could straighten it out she would be the one.

And as they walked, James realized that this could be okay. Things may yet be alright.


	3. All At Once

Isaac was dreaming.

Isaac knew that he was dreaming because he didn’t seem to be touching any sort of floor, but rather floating in some inky void. Pinpricks of light dotted the horizon, connecting to and bouncing off one another in a way that didn’t quite remind him of the Pillars.

“Reach into yourself,” came the voice again, and Isaac felt hands take his own, guiding his fists to his stomach. “Imagine a deep well within yourself, that is your magic. It is buried in sand, kept far below ground, but it is there. And it remembers the ocean. Imagine that calling, that yearning, when it rains upon the desert, how that well cries to rejoin the water flowing among the world. That is your magic. Feel it moving within you, how you touch the world and how the world touches you, and imagine your well erupting, that you are a geyser, that is your magic.”

Isaac laughed at the woman’s words, for he knew she was a woman, even if she had no body to speak of. But he did as she asked, and he focused. He felt the world, so far as the world went inside his dream, and stretched his arm out, index finger pointed.

“From your core to the tips of your fingers, focus. Feel the energy, your passion, that is your magic.” Isaac felt his thumb rise, guided by her hands. “And fire it out.”

Isaac knew that he was dreaming because there was no magic like this that he knew of, the way everything broke out of him, screaming out of his finger in an arrow of pain and joy and light and power. He raised his other hand, another shot ready to go. Images burned around his fingers in the air with each shot; complicated sigils of whirling shapes and text. Isaac moved and the woman moved with him, cape swishing out behind them, gold gleaming in the void.

“Good,” came the voice, farther now than the last time she spoke. “Isaac, there is so much magic in the world. Everything you know and more.” The voice got close, whispering directly into Isaac’s mind. “There are sigils, and there are runes, and there are words lost to all but those On High and those Below, the vaensho and the sathaimo. Fragments remain, scattered to the world, to the mothers-- maghaima sisclutia-- and the one who took it-- Fe Almasola-- so long ago.” The voice became even more distant, and Isaac could feel himself waking up, slowly but surely. “You pierced worlds, Isaac. You…”

He wanted to call out, ask if he would remember, but then he knew that she had taken speech from him; he had given it up to dream the words only the vaensho and sathaimo could say. And then Isaac awoke, sweating and shaking under a dark pair of watchful eyes.

“Are you okay?” Charlie’s voice was quiet in the night, as to not wake up Peter or Nicholas.

“Fine,” Isaac mumbled. “Gonna get some water.” He got up carefully, as to not disturb the other boys sleeping on the floor, and eased open the door. To his minor annoyance, Charlie followed. “What are you even doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” they said, silently closing the door closed with practiced ease.

“You don't strike me as the type to get a lot of sleep to begin with,” Isaac said.

“I don’t.” Charlie’s tone told Isaac not to continue, yet another part of the witchling Isaac wasn’t allowed to pursue. All in all, Isaac didn’t think he liked Charlie. It wasn’t that he was hurt when Charlie had turned him down, back when he first met them. People were more than allowed to say no to him. It was just… irksome… that the witchling seemed to hold Isaac in contempt without any reason. Like they didn’t trust him yet. And that Charlie was so absolutely determined not to be his friend. Isaac would try to make smalltalk, and Charlie just wouldn’t respond. They would just look at him with those dark eyes and say nothing, as if daring him to ramp up his friendliness just a little more. So that’s what Isaac had been doing. Isaac didn’t want to dislike Charlie.

Water retrieved, Isaac smiled at the dour witchling, frowning as they watched him move through their home. Charlie followed behind them, washing, drying, and returning the cup to the cabinet as soon as Isaac was done with it.

“You could have used magic,” Isaac said, giving a pointed look to the cabinet and the dishrag on Charlie’s shoulder.

“I prefer not to,” Charlie said.

Isaac sighed, sitting on the couch, conjuring up a small ball of light rather than going to the switch. Electric lights were… not his favorite. They hurt his eyes. “When’s the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”

Charlie frowned. “Why?”

“Indulge me.”

Charlie huffed a breath. “I can’t remember,” they said softly.

“Alright then. Let’s sit out here and talk.”

“What?”

“Talk.” Isaac leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees. “We’re not clicking, and I’d like to be friends. You get along with Peter great, and you and Nicholas chat sometimes about magic laws and stuff, but we just kinda coexist, and I’d like to fix that. And you’re not going to be going to sleep any time soon, and I’m not going to sleep knowing you’re just lurking up there.” Isaac slid off the couch, letting the light hover as he sat cross-legged on the floor. “Join me.”

Reluctantly, Charlie sat down too, their pajamas billowing out around them, and Isaac was once again forced to realize just how bigger than Charlie he was. Isaac knew he was a handful of years older than the witching, but still, Charlie had no business being as small as they were. “Fine. But we’re going question for question. And I reserve the right to not answer.”

Isaac was fine with that. “Have you been studying magic all your life?”

“No.” Succinct. “Do you like it here?”

Isaac shrugged. “I mean, it’s not home. But there’re still dogs here, so that’s helping.” Charlie smiled, prompting Isaac to smile himself. “Would you rather be burning hot or freezing cold?”

Charlie’s smile disappeared as quickly as it came. “Cold. Ice cold before hot. What’s it like where you’re from?”

Isaac sighed, leaning back as he thought of Menechit. “We don’t have all the same stuff you have here, but I think it’s prettier. The sky’s bluer, the grass is greener, you know? And people have stuff that bothers them, but I’d say they’re more focused. Magic is all different there too, we have mages and sorcerers and wizards and stuff, while you all are just witches. Even if your witchcraft works differently than ours.” That was one reason Isaac was here with Charlie; he was learning this strange breed of witchcraft from Zenthella. It was nothing like what James had been teaching him, but it was actually pretty fun. So far as learning an otherworldly form of magic went, at least. There was also the complicating factor that no one had quite managed to replicate the warp spell that had accidentally taken Isaac to Zenthella in the first place, but he still had more witch learning to finish before getting home was a major concern. “If you’d rather be cold, why do you wear so much to bed? Are you not allowed to show a lot of skin?” Isaac gave Charlie a once-over, glancing at the long sleeved shirt that absolutely swallowed them and the pants that pooled around their ankles. 

Charlie looked down at themself, as if they hadn’t realized how extensive their pajamas were, down to the fuzzy socks on their feet. “Oh, um. I just like to be covered, I guess. Unlike you.” Isaac grinned and glanced down at his own pajamas: an oversized pair of boxers that Isaac had procured from… somewhere.

“They’re comfortable!” Isaac insisted.

“And of unknown origin,” Charlie muttered. That part wasn’t quite technically true, as Isaac knew where they came from. Everyone else, however, could only guess.

“Whatever, you told me I had to be ‘decent,’ and at least I’m not hot when I sleep. Next question?”

And so they went, the two of them back and forth, into the morning.

\---

Staying up all night and bonding with Charlie seemed like such a good plan at the time, Isaac thought as he stifled a yawn. Zenthella was saying something about actualizing something, but Isaac didn’t quite have the energy to listen to her.

“Peter, I’m not trying to be one of those teachers who ignores an obvious solution to a real world problem. In any given situation, you can probably use your cane as your instrument, and you may never need to actualize anything. Still, for this lesson, I’d like you to actualize a baton.” Isaac liked that about Zenthella, how she didn’t teach useless things, nor did she shy away for alternative solutions. She did make sure that they knew the fundamentals, though, and know them well.

“Why batons, Ms. Dappled Sandoute?”

“Just Zenthella, Nicholas.” On one hand, Isaac appreciated how down to earth Zenthella was, but on the other hand, if he had a magic name, he was pretty sure he would want everyone to use it as often as possible. “Batons work well because they are easy conductors for magic, easily grasped, and relatively versatile. Just two sticks. But when you get better and better, you can start to do some really cool stuff with them, like perpetual defending with one and attack patterns with the other.”

“Do you fight with magic a lot?”

Zenthella’s mouth pulled, glancing at Figaro. “More often than we like,” the familiar said. There were a lot of good things about this world, but Isaac was pretty sure that Figaro was his favorite. First and foremost, he was a dog. A big hunk of a dog too, with lots of fur for petting and tail for wagging. Figaro had been in dog form when Isaac first met him, and he had been sure that Figaro was some sort of magic wolf, sitting at Zenthella’s heels like something out of a myth. Isaac hadn’t been entirely wrong. From there, Figaro was an all-around excellent person. Nicholas didn’t quite like him, and Peter was largely undecided, but Isaac was happy to know him. The fact that Figaro had red hair just made Isaac grin; he wondered if it was some sort of prerequisite to hang around witches.

“Anyways, focus on actualizing.” Zenthella stood before them, bringing her hands together in front of her. “Think of all that there is in this world, in this universe. It all has its own power, its own energy. And those energies interplay, moving off of one another and into you. Feel that energy and shape it. Make it your own, and shape a bridge. You are the lightning rod and the lightning. Deep breaths. Be cautious-- pour too much raw magic into the creation and it can overwhelm you.”

Isaac smiled to himself; he thought Zenthella sounded a lot like the voice his dreams. Maybe he had been dreaming of Zenthella’s voice. The dream lessons tended to hang around in his mind like dew-speckled cobwebs before the dawn: present, but not entirely clear. And definitely not permanent. Still, he managed to retain about as much as he lost, he thought. It was a bit tricky to tell how much he was forgetting, seeing as he couldn’t remember it in the first place to know it was lost. But such was the nature of dreams.

Peter got it first. One second his hand was empty, grasping the air, then filaments of light solidified into his grip, outfitting him with a short rod, its twin fitting into his other hand.

“There we are,” Figaro said, clicking his tongue. 

Zenthella nodded. “Excellent work.” She turned, regarding the other two boys.

Nicholas was next, gasping a little as two batons fell neatly into his hands. He weighed them, slowly rollings his wrists to get used to the feel of them. They were a little longer than Peter’s, a little thinner, but they suited him in the same way Peter’s suited him.

“Good, Nicholas.”

“A more Old World design,” Figaro noted. “Almost Coventium Europe.” A wolflike grin. “Do you think we should call up Mona Lisa?”

“Thank you, peanut gallery.” That earned a giggle from Charlie, who had been more or less sulking on a table in the back of the room. They clamped down on the giggle as soon as it emerged, and they returned their chin to their knees as they watched Isaac attempt to summon an instrument.

Isaac let out a frustrated breath, trying to tie the fibers of magic together. He could see them, similar to how he could see the Pillars, though these were different, the magic of a different world, and they ran through him and off him and it was just similar enough to the stars in his dreamscape. And then he took a breath and focused on the dreamscape and the voice, the voice that whispered to him about the magic of this world, and he imagined himself as the needle dragging strings of fate across some great loom, and he pierced the world. The voice seemed to whisper to him, informing him of her design. The threads tightened, weaving themselves together in his hand in the form of a crooked sword, curved at the base in a shape too intentional to be defect. As if this magic could ever be defective.

“Not a baton,” Figaro noted.

“Interesting work, Isaac.” Zenthella ran her eyes over Isaac’s instrument before glancing at Figaro. “Do you know what that is?”

“No.” Zenthella’s tone implied that she did.

“Neither do I.” Oh. Never mind then. “Figaro, can you get Cecily? She’s our residential weapons aficionado,” she explained to the mages.

“You don’t have to,” Charlie piped up. “I saw one of those in a book I read on Egypt and pharaohs and stuff. It’s called a khopesh.”

“Really?” Zenthella was looking at Isaac still, though now her gaze asked something else of him, though he wasn’t sure what. Charlie nodded, and Zenthella sighed. Her shoulders didn’t slump though. “Well, I suppose that’s all we needed for today. Keep practicing summoning and dispelling your instrument-- tomorrow we begin sigil work with them. Class dismissed.”

Peter nodded, dispelling his batons with apparent ease and heading out. He was probably headed up to the garden on the third floor, where he could sit under those domes of glass that never seemed to let in the right amount of light. Maybe this world’s sun was different.

Nicholas had a bit more difficulty dispelling his batons, unable to relax his grip enough to release them. Zenthella eventually told him to just drop them and try to forget them, and they dematerialized almost as soon as they left Nicholas’ grasp. Nicholas filed out after Zenthella and Figaro, leaving Isaac and Charlie alone.

“You alright?”

Charlie grunted. They hadn’t budged from the table. “This is where I actualized my instrument,” they said. It surprised Isaac; he hadn’t expected a response. “Figaro blocked the door and told me I wasn’t getting out until I made a set of batons.”

“Did you do it? I mean, obviously you did eventually, but--”

“I didn’t,” Charlie said, sliding off the table.

“Figaro gave up?” That was… not a great display of Figaro’s resolve.

“No, he didn’t. I ended up cheating, making a weapon that allowed me to escape my magic for a little while longer. Do you know how to sword fight?” Charlie nodded to the khopesh still in Isaac’s hands.

“Well, I…” Isaac trailed off and shrugged. He wasn’t quite sure where this was going, but it seemed promising.

Charlie offered a small grin, stretching out their hand as a sword wove its way into their grip. “Do you want some pointers?”

Ah. Isaac returned the smile. He supposed he could wait for a nap a little while longer.


End file.
